Wolfram and Hart: New Beginnings
by Nathan-Daystorm
Summary: After the final farewell...what happens next? The Senior Partners wouldn't just give up...so who will fight them now?
1. Default Chapter

**Wolfram and Hart**

**Prologue**

**The Final Farewell**

AN: Thanks to all of those who reviewed the trailer. I hope you enjoy the story as much! One note: In this story, italics outside of dialogue usually mean flashbacks. Without further ado…on with the show.

* * *

_"Well…personally…I wanna slay the dragon." Angel struck out almost immediately after finishing his sentence, sword clashing against the steel blade of the nearest hooded creature. "Stay tight, don't let them separate us!"_

_"If we're goin' down," Gunn added, swinging his ax viciously, "we're goin' down as a team!"_

_"Speak for yourself, mate," Spike quipped, smashing his fist against what he hoped was the face of the hooded creature in front of him. "I bloody well plan to survive this little party!"_

_"Your plans do not matter," Illyria stated, kicking out at the midsection of the hooded creature to the left of her. "We have no hope against such numbers."_

_"Gotta stay positive," Angel called over his shoulder, even as he was pushed backwards by a swarm of the hooded creatures._

_"Positive," Gunn growled, dispatching one of the creatures with a violent swing of his ax that took off its head. "Yeah, right. So says the guy without the gaping wound."_

_"You jest," Illyria observed, "yet this is hardly a time to do so."_

_"Yeah, well I figure," Gunn paused in his sentence to duck a swing from a clawed hand, "I'm gonna die, I might as well go out smilin'!"_

_"What's to smile about," Spike snarled, dodging and weaving as best he could. "You see anything to smile about, your blueness?"_

_"For once, I agree with the insolent one," Illyria sighed. "You are not displeasing to my sight, but I still do not understand what drives you."_

_"How do you mean," Gunn asked, still trying to hold his wound closed and fight at the same time._

_"You do not need to fight, to expend the effort it requires. You are going to die, and there is nothing that we here could do about it, even if we were to survive." Illyria punctuated her point by shoving her fist through the head of one of the creatures._

_"Yeah, on one level, you're exactly right," Gunn panted, hacking through another hooded creature. "But I wanna go down a warrior, maybe make up for the last of my sins."_

_"Less talk, more fight," Spike shouted. "These guys ain't gettin' any less pissed, y'know!"_

_"Where is Angel," Illyria questioned abruptly._

_"Over here," Angel shouted, shoving his sword through the midsection of one of the creatures._

_"So much for not splittin' up," Spike joked, even as he found himself being pushed back and overwhelmed with the hooded creatures. Angel was experiencing much the same. "Not lookin' too good here, people!"_

_"We've got eyes, Spike," Gunn panted, trying to raise his ax before being knocked flat on his back by one of the hooded creatures. Illyria tried to shove through the creatures to his defense, but instead found herself being leapt upon, a dogpile rapidly growing. Hope looked like it had been lost…_

_…and then all hell broke loose._

_From above, a fireball the size of a watermelon smacked into the enemy lines, outright obliterating those at the center of its explosive mass. The next fireball struck the dogpile smothering Illyria, sending them scattering in every direction. Gunn looked up to see where they were coming from and almost died of shock. "Wes?"_

_Wesley's eyes were burning with fire, his face twisted in a snarl of rage. "Get up," he shouted down at Gunn._

_"I…I saw you die," Illyria stated, stumbling over her words._

_"Yes, but you didn't see what happened after. Now, all of you get up and fight! This battle isn't over yet!"_

_Heartened by the reappearance of their dead friend, the Wolfram and Hart team managed to regroup, fighting their way through enemy lines as Wesley covered them with magical attacks from above. "Angel, you wanted to slay the dragon," Illyria questioned._

_"Yeah, I mean, it's in all the fairy-" Illyria shot out her hand, grabbed Angel by the collar, and hurled him upwards. The dragon flew by a second afterwards, and Angel landed on its back, sword in hand. "Thanks," he called down, stabbing at the dragon's wing and ripping through it. The dragon roared in pain and tried to stay up, but found it careening downwards despite its best efforts._

_"Angel, jump off," Gunn yelled, trying to be heard above the din._

_"Bloody hell, get back," Spike yelped, grabbing Gunn and Illyria and hauling them backwards and to the ground, even as the dragon went soaring by, plowing through the space their heads had been mere moments before._

_"He sacrifices himself to be certain that the dragon is dead," Illyria called, pointing to where Angel stood, sword embedded in the dragon's head up to its hilt, Angel's legs wrapped tightly around the head, hands pressed down to keep the sword in place. The dragon, now dead, plowed through an enormous amount of the hooded creatures before slamming into the wall of a building and coming to rest. Angel, either unconscious or nearly so, rolled off the dragon, a loud groan escaping his lips before he hit the ground._

_"C'mon," Gunn practically roared, shoving himself up and charging towards the remaining creatures. "He's opened up a path!"_

_"And we'll damn well walk it," Spike finished, following Gunn's example. Illyria crouched and in one mighty leap was soaring through the air, fist raised, face set in grim determination._

_Gunn was the first to go. He valiantly hacked through almost an entire line of the enemy to get to where the dragon rested, immediately climbing up its back and, with a firm yank, retrieving Angel's sword. "Spike, catch!" The blonde haired champion caught the sword effortlessly; spinning around and slashing downward, hewing two creatures in half with the sheer might of his blow. Gunn, unfortunately, was not so lucky. Three creatures leapt up onto him, barreling him down, onto his back. He managed to plant his ax directly into the head of one, but the other two tore at him viciously. Wesley looked directly into Gunn's eyes in that moment, and Gunn nodded. "The death of a warrior," Wesley observed, before launching a fireball at the dragon's head. It exploded in flame, destroying the two creatures and Gunn. Wesley squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, lamenting the death of his friend, before they flew wide-open, rage springing into him anew._

_Spike was next. He was slashing wildly; destroying hooded creatures left and right with each slash and thrust of the sword. They had managed to make it down the street, and looking to his left, Spike could see where the stream of hooded creatures were coming from. There was a portal, being generated by a large machine, obviously powered by the glowing stones decorating the circular device, positioned halfway down the next street. "Magic," Spike spat. "I **hate** magic." He tried hacking his way through the stream of creatures making their way out of the portal, intending to destroy the machine himself to cut off the flow of creatures that the Senior Partners could send. Instead, he got a stake through the heart. "Wesley," he managed to shout, his voice hoarse, before he crumbled away to a pile of dust, immediately being trampled by the enemies._

_Wesley's attention was immediately drawn by Spike's hoarse shout, and from there he caught site of the portal device. The stones were obviously imbued with the magic necessary to keep the portal open. If he could destroy those stones, the machine itself would be salvageable for study. That was a prospect that, not too long ago, he would have found intriguing. Now, he just raised his hands, directing all his will, all his power, all of his warrior spirit into a fireball with enough power to destroy the device and, with any luck, the stones. It took several minutes, but finally, with a shout of, "Illyria! Get clear," he fired the explosive ball of fire. It was the size of a car, with enough power to total the entire street. He slumped to the ground, drained of energy, and watched hopefully as the ball of flame hurtled toward its destination. Wesley sighed, knowing that he couldn't even manage a small healing spell after that, let alone another ball that even neared powerful enough to destroy the machine. The ball of flame smashed into the machine and exploded, buildings around it being blown backwards with the force of it. "Please, let it be enough."_

_Illyria, unaccustomed to feeling hopeless, let out a whoop of triumph when the smoke cleared to reveal that the machine had been destroyed, left as nothing more than ashes. She saw Wesley, a smile on his face, sitting in a heap on the roof, and couldn't help but be impressed. For a mortal, a **human** , he was a strong warrior. There weren't an enormous number of hooded creatures left, and those that were there were fighting recklessly now, knowing that suddenly, they were the only creatures there. There would be no reinforcements, and the creatures were frightened of this._

_As well they should be. Illyria smashed through them with a vengeance, taking out all the anger she had felt as she had watched Wesley die on them. In that moment, that one moment of Wesley's death, Illyria had realized that she had come to…to love him, she supposed, though she was still very unclear on the definition of that word. It burned strongly in the fragments of Fred's memory that remained within her, though, and through those she had gleaned a partial definition…one she had discovered her feelings to meet entirely._

_It didn't take long for the rest of the creatures to be mopped up, and Illyria then climbed up several fire escapes to get to Wesley. "Wesley…I watched you die. Your heart ceased to function, you ceased to be…you died. How are you here?"_

_"I'll explain it later, Illyria," Wesley explained, sounding groggy. "How's Angel?"_

_"I have not been to see him yet," Illyria returned. "I will take you to him. He may want an emotional farewell, and I could not give that to him." Wesley merely nodded, and Illyria hefted him easily into her arms. She glanced down at the street below before leaping off the building, landing in a crouch to better keep her balance. "Are you capable of walking?"_

_"I…I think so," Wesley returned, suppressing a yawn. Illyria wasn't all that sure if she believed him, but she put him down all the same. He wobbled a bit at first, but was able to stand up with only a slight bit of support from her. "He's over there. Come on." The pair made their way over to Angel, who lay on his back, his hands gripping his chest, his face twisted in pain. "Angel? It's Wesley. Can you hear me?"_

_"Wes," Angel whispered. "Illyria said…."_

_"Apparently, I made a rather large error," Illyria replied._

_"Yeah," Angel replied, laughing softly, blood sputtering up out of his mouth when he did. "I guess you did." Wesley's brow was furrowed, and he made a motion for Illyria to lower the two of them down farther. Illyria quirked an eyebrow, but crouched down lower. Wesley reached out a hand tentatively and placed it on Angel's corroded artery. His eyes widened, and a small, groggy smile lit up his face. "Wes? Is that you? I can't see…what's going on?" Angel's voice was fading…and so was something else._

_"Your pulse is fading, Angel," Wesley stated._

_"Well yeah, I just-"_

_"No," Wesley cut him off. "Angel, listen to me. Your **pulse** is fading."_

_"P-pulse? But that means…that means I'm…."_

_"Alive," Wesley confirmed, nodding. "Your heart is beating, Angel. Its fading, its going to fail, but at this exact moment…you are human, Angel."_

_"It can't be. I…I signed it away."_

_"What name did you sign," Wesley asked, an idea forming in his mind._

_"Angel."_

_"Then fate found you a loophole," Wesley explained. "Your name…your real name…is Angelus."_

_"So," Angel said, realization hitting him, "because I didn't sign my real name…the contract didn't go through."_

_"Exactly," Wesley confirmed. "You're going to die human, Angel."_

_"How…how am I going to die," Angel asked, unafraid._

_"Judging by the large bruise on your chest, I'd say when the dragon crashed into the building, you were thrown forward, but the hilt of the sword caught you in the chest and crushed what was inside."_

_"I don't think I've ever been so happy to hear that I was dieing," Angel joked. "Wes?"_

_"Yes, Angel?"_

_"Take care of it for me."_

_"What?"_

_"The world." With those words said, and a smile on his lips, Angel died, his last breath rattling out of him. Illyria's head hung low, her hair covering her face, and Wesley knew that she was shedding tears. Not bawling, like Fred would have, but shedding tears nonetheless._

_"Come on Illyria," Wesley said softly. "Let's go home."_


	2. Origins

** Wolfram and Hart  
New Beginnings  
Chapter One  
Origins....**

AN: Sorry this update took so long, but my brain died, and then high school graduation came along. Then I just plain couldn't figure out how to start it off, but now I've got it. The first chapters are going to be the back stories of the characters that aren't from AtS. Not everyone's read Frankenstein, or know who Springheel Jack is, etc. etc. Now, without further ado, the origins of Springheel Jack (as I see them, as he is somewhat of an actual historical legend).

* * *

"Hey, did you get the stuff?" That was the whisper passed around from teenager to teenager on one dark, chilly night. All five of the teenagers, all males, were dressed in black robes and black hoods, almost as if they were reenacting a scene of the Ringwraiths from Lord of the Rings...only not nearly so well. They were standing around a pentagram, each boy standing at one of the points. One of the boys finally nodded, pulling from within his robes a bottle of herbs labeled **wolfsbane**.  
  
"Oh my god, man, _wolfsbane_?!" The teenager scoffed, stepping away from his designated area to smack the boy holding the herbs in the head. "That only works in the movies!"  
  
"_Bad_ movies," another agreed.  
  
"Hey, they aren't bad, they're just old," another quipped defensively. Obviously, he was either a fan of the old movies or had been scared of them as a child.  
  
"How are we supposed to become some big, bad werewolf pack if we can't get along," another sighed, and then added under his breath, "Or get the right goddamn shit."  
  
"I'll bet you'd partaken of another herb before buying that shit," the lead teenager laughed. "Man, share next time. Sharing's what makes the world go 'round."  
  
"Hey, did you hear that," the boy with the herbs asked, undoubtedly trying to change the subject, as he didn't feel like sharing the joint he had in his pocket.  
  
"...You're trying to become a werewolf using black magick," the out of place teenager scoffed, "and you're jumping at every little sound?"  
  
"Hey, Brad, knock it off, I really heard something!"  
  
"Yeah, Scott, right," the lead teenager droned. "Shut the fuck up. You've always been the pansy of this group."  
  
"Some leader you are, Dick," Scott muttered.  
  
"_Richard_, damn it! My name is _Richard_!"  
  
"I think _Dick_ fits better," mused a slightly accented voice from above, and the teens all turned their eyes skyward, to see a darkened silhouette blotting out a portion of the full moon, standing precariously on the edge of the roof of a tall building.  
  
"I told you I fucking heard something," Scott shouted triumphantly. "Fucking pricks."  
  
"Dude, shut the hell up," Brad snapped. "This guy's giving me the goddamn creeps."  
  
"Oh, I am, am I," the silhouette mused, chuckling. His accent was decidedly English, with a malicious lilt to it that none of the teenagers liked. "I've given others worse. Tell me boys, have you ever heard of," the man paused now, and leapt down from the roof, obviously suicidal, as the roof was at least forty feet up, but then he landed in a perfect crouch, black hair falling in front of a perfect, pale face, "Springheel Jack?"  
  
"_WHAT THE FUCK_," Richard yelped, ducking backwards, the others not a moment behind him.  
  
"Apparently not," the man – apparently named Springheel Jack – laughed. "Well, my young friends, I go back a long way. And no, before you say it, I'm not a vampire, so don't ask me to turn you."  
  
"We're werewolves," Brad squeaked out.  
  
"Ah, but there's one catch," Jack grinned. "Wolfsbane can't turn you into a werewolf. And yes, those movies were bad. Believe me, I saw them all opening night."  
  
"Y-you can't be that old, not unless you _are_ a vampire," Scott stammered.  
  
"Oh, I assure you," Jack smirked, "that there are far worse things in this world than vampires. I should know." He jabbed his finger downwards, pointing to the pentagram the boys had scrawled in what was apparently human blood. "I've had to fight things from _down there_." He chuckled and pointed upwards, adding jovially, "I've also had to fight things from up there."  
  
"What a-are you t-then," Richard questioned, feeling bolder despite his lingering fear.  
  
"What am I," Springheel mused, finally coming up from his crouch and beginning to pace the alley. "That's a question I've been asking myself since I could really grasp its meaning. You see, I was born with a few gifts, one of which you've seen."  
  
"You can jump," Richard offered, putting some of the pieces together.  
  
"That's one, yes," Jack returned. "I can also do this." Suddenly Jack lunged forward, breathing out blue flame at Brad, who tried to run but was paralyzed as soon as the flame hit him.  
  
"What'd you do to him," Scott yelped, fearful for his friend.  
  
"I merely paralyzed the boy," Springheel returned, sighing heavily. "You'll find him unharmed when the paralysis wears off."  
  
"So what else can you do," Richard asked, not stammering anymore. He was beginning to see Jack as a potential tool, something even better than lycanthropy. Who needed an uncontrollable beast inside them when they could just manipulate someone that already existed into doing what they wanted?  
  
"Bursts of incorporeality," Jack explained, sighing again at the blank looks on all the faces. "I can turn 'ghostly' for a brief period of time. The longer I stay 'ghostly' the more draining it is on me, so I usually only rely on it when stealth is necessary." He grinned and gestured to the teenagers. "Sneaking up on you lot, for instance."  
  
"Why should we believe you," Richard challenged, trying to goad Jack's ego a bit.  
  
"Because I have these," Jack sighed, reaching into his dark duster and pulling out newspaper clippings. "Read them, if you like," he added, tossing them at the teenagers. "I terrorized London and the surrounding area in the 1800s, and led everyone on a merry chase trying to figure out who I was. It was quite sad when I had to leave, but someone got far too close to the truth for my liking, so off I came to the states, and what a wonderful den of corruption it was." He grinned and began advancing on the teenagers. "It was such a sickening cesspool that even _I_ found it disgusting. At least in London, we murderers were civilized, but here, you people are just...sick. Butchering bodies, drinking blood because you teenage 'Goths' want to become a vampire, blaming things on a split personality..._Johnny Cochrin_?" He stepped closer, the teenagers cowering back, except Richard, who was too absorbed in the clippings to notice that Jack had come to stand directly in front of him.  
  
In that moment, Richard got a good look at the man. He was of relatively tall, though not a giant, and wore a black sweater with black work pants, that were tucked into heavy black boots. Overtop that he wore a duster, and on his hands...iron gauntlets, the fingers pointed to be used as wicked claws. His hair, black like the night sky, hung to just below his temples, framing a pale and perfectly sculpted face. Dark brown eyes stared at Richard as if he was the deer and Jack the hunter. "Perhaps you should pay more attention to your surroundings, _Dick_. It might have saved your life one day."  
  
"Might have," Richard questioned, looking up briefly before realizing the portent of Jack's words, dropping the newspaper clipping and stumbling back, just before Jack stabbed the claws on his right gauntlet directly through the boy's chest, impaling his heart and ending the boy's life in one fell stroke.  
  
"You see, _Dick_, had you been able to use the magick you sought – and found, by way of Brad's 'big surprise' that he mentioned on the phone – you would have become a werewolf pack. Many lives would have been lost before you were finally subdued, if you were subdued at all," Jack explained, tossing the body aside like yesterday's garbage, advancing on the remaining boys, crushing the paralyzed Brad's skull as he stepped on it. "And I, well, I just couldn't allow that. You see, I've seen the error of my ways after several long years...and now, well, atonement seems the best option."  
  
"B-but you're not a-all broody and f-forgiving, like-like you're s'posed to b-be when y-you look for a-atonement," Scott stuttered, unsure why he was arguing with the man.  
  
"Oh, come now, boys," Jack laughed, lunging at Scott. He grabbed the boy by the collar and hefted him off the ground. "No one said atonement couldn't be _fun_."

* * *

It didn't take Jack long to rid himself of the boys. They had all been very cooperative...or Jack had been beating them too hard to notice their resistance. By the time he'd finished, it was 2 am, and he realized that he did need to get at least a bit of sleep. After all, as much as he hated to admit it, the day job was a necessity. When he awoke, it was an hour after the morning news, and there was a letter under his door. When he opened the envelope, the first thing he noticed was the letterhead. "Wolfram and Hart," he mused, interested, and began to peruse the letter.


End file.
